


red desert

by johntography



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Comedy, Farmer Ushijima Wakatoshi, Flower Language, Fluff, Gen, Horoscopes, M/M, Team as Family, ushi: ur horoscope says you'll get stuck in an unpredictable current. here take my umbrella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johntography/pseuds/johntography
Summary: “What’re you smiling at, huh?” Tendou interrupts his rant with. He sounds half incredulous, half amused. “Did I bore you with my monologue?”“No, it’s not a problem,” Wakatoshi says honestly, and walks off to the storage rooms. The gerbera daisy he plucks from its heap is fresh and moist, almost escapes his grip when he clips its stem hurriedly. But it’s perfect tucked behind Tendou’s ear.Tendou watches him put it in place intently. “Doesn’t it clash?”Wakatoshi shakes his head.(There is no place where flowers cannot be arranged.)
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 72
Collections: Shiratorizawa Fanweek 2020





	red desert

**Author's Note:**

> so the initial idea for this was born after seeing [this tweet](https://twitter.com/kur1012/status/1277827436369985536?s=19). and then i looked at the prompts and saw flowershop au and somehow my brain molded these two together. i'll probably go back to refine the writing style later but happy day 3 of shiratorizawa week, hope you enjoy!!  
> (p.s if i managed to fool you into thinking i know anything at all about flowershops, pls consider leaving a kudos)

The Ota flower market is bustling with life any day and today’s cool March afternoon is no exception. Storefronts of bigger shops line the walls all the way to the auction hall entrance. Small stands are placed in a complicated arrangement akin to a maze, and it fondly reminds Wakatoshi of the lively Belgian Christmas markets he had the chance to stroll through last year. Typically Wakatoshi is all about order and meticulousness, especially when it comes to attending expositions, but the flight booking mishap committed by Tendou, his right hand and trip companion, had its advantages. Even though they had made it to the conference in Virginia with barely any time to spare.

Perhaps it’s strange that Wakatoshi associates something that should be bone-deep-imprint familiar like the Tokyo wholesale market with a place abroad but, well, Tokyo isn’t quite home either. Home is Miyagi, the countryside house his father raised him in and the endless stretch of flower beds but home isn’t always accessible, what with Wakatoshi being essentially in charge of all of Shiratorizawa and faithfully overseeing every site. Everywhere they grow their own, from tulips in the Western Tonami to poinsettias in the Eastern Saitama to adan fruit in Okinawa, far in the South. All the shops they own, from humble stands sprinkled in the cities to the main office where they take care of the big event orders. Wakatoshi is everywhere and nowhere at once, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it that way.

Still he walks into the Ota market not quite knowing where to go anymore. He’s wearing regular clothes today and a black cap on his head, a half-hearted attempt at disguise. It works in so far that he blends with the hustling throng of people easily, letting them lead him in whatever direction they deem necessary. Wakatoshi observes.

The sweet, intermingling scents of nature follow him to the Seijoh stand. It’s decorated as tastefully as ever, the subtle marine theme permeating the walls of the storebox and the signs indicating what each arrangement is made of. Wakatoshi isn’t a very welcome guest here, but it doesn’t bother him. He’s not feeling threatened, after all.

“Good afternoon,” a voice greets. An employee appears seemingly out of nowhere, signature turquoise apron fluttering, not unlike the inky black strands of his bangs. “How are you doing today?”

That’s another stark difference Wakatoshi has noticed between the flower business in Japan and abroad. Foreigners treat it exactly as such: a business transaction, an exchange of goods, not very different to purchasing vegetables or clothes. Wakatoshi sees the appeal of that, the quick in-and-out of a store, not having to engage in any unnecessary conversation. On most days he would prefer it even. In theory, anyway. Growing up here, with a mother passionate about ikebana, has the power to override any pragmatic instinct.

(The shape of an arrangement cannot be planned. You have to look for it in nature, within yourself. Let it find you on its own terms.)

(His mother adored asymmetry, the way he took on to writing with his left rather than his right hand early on.)

“I’m good, Kageyama-kun, thank you. It’s good to be back,” Wakatoshi responds, tilting his head to look Kageyama in the eyes better.

“Oh, Ushijima-san!” Kageyama exclaims. He sounds as surprised as his even tone allows it. The tone he uses when on duty, anyway, because Wakatoshi has been witness to his disputes with Hinata Shouyou from Karasuno often enough to know he sounds nothing like that when riled up.

Wakatoshi just nods. “I’m back in Japan for the rest of the year.”

“That’s good,” Kageyama says. He hesitates for a moment. “Should I let Iwaizumi-san know you’re here?”

“Sure,” Wakatoshi recedes. Iwaizumi has become a good friend of his, ever since they had traveled to a conference in California together earlier this year. Much to Oikawa’s–

“Ushiwaka.”

–dismay.

“Oikawa,” Wakatoshi greets. He wasn’t expecting to see him already as Oikawa is in a similar position, commuting between the flower market, the Seijoh store on the outskirts of Tokyo and their farms in Miyagi. Wakatoshi isn’t opposed, however, to ripping the band-aid off and announcing his presence to him early. Though it would’ve been nice to get to see Iwaizumi beforehand…

“Did the amaryllis arrangement by the door not set off any warning bells in your thick head?”

Wakatoshi scratches the back of the thick head in question. “Not particularly, no.”

Oikawa makes to say something else, but Wakatoshi interrupts him. “As a matter of fact, I thought it was a rather weird choice for the forefront of the store. It doesn’t harmonize with the–”

“Get the hell out,” Oikawa brawls in a bored tone, dragging out the last syllable. “Bother Sawamura-kun or something.”

Kageyama still stands off to the side, his shoulders tense and eyes flitting from one owner to another awkwardly. His hands twitch, like he’s itching to raise them and indicate to the class that he has a question.

“Alright,” Wakatoshi says. He knows when to pick his battles. “Kageyama-kun,” he adds, turning to the young apprentice.

“Have a good day, Ushijima-san,” Kageyama bows deeply. Wakatoshi bows his head in turn and walks out.

Distantly, he can hear Kageyama stammer out an “Oikawa-san, what did you mean with the amaryllis?” and Oikawa sigh dramatically loud. Wakatoshi doesn’t know why he insists on playing all these games and playing favorites with whoever he feels like pushing more at the time, be it Yahaba, Watari, Kyoutani, Kageyama or Kunimi. While all talented florists and/or businessmen in their own right, they all know Kageyama is set to be Oikawa’s successor.

Though Oikawa has made it clear enough why. _Pride._

Wakatoshi shifts his cap in place and makes his way to Shiratorizawa.

The stand is larger than most, Shiratorizawa being nationally established and all. Wakatoshi’s eyes drown in the strong lilac of pansies, juxtaposed against the soft pink of local camellias. He smells dusk and early mornings and soil wet from dew.

What he hears is somewhat less peaceful than that.

“Kawanishi, what do you mean we ran out of maple and you didn’t know? You better get your ass up and make sure I have some for the arrangements to be picked up in an hour or I’ll skin you and wrap the bouquet in it!”

“Tsutomu, get me the receipts from yesterday, something isn’t lining up. Faster, will you?”

“Shirabu.”

“Yes?”

“Nothing, you’re just looking too comfortable over there. Get to working.”

“Hello, Eita-kun,” Wakatoshi announces himself.

Semi, the apron half-hanging off of his frame in the haste, swings around to the door. “Wakatoshi! Thank God you’re here.”

Wakatoshi isn’t about to question the statement, not with how every employee in the room suddenly freezes. Several pairs of eyes settle on him, some visibly happy, others more nervous. Regardless everyone seems to straighten up. The charge in the atmosphere shifts from chaos to determination and with the polite greetings out of the way, movements become more fluid as one after another, Wakatoshi’s most trusted bunch gets back to what they were doing before with complete focus.

Everyone but Goshiki, anyway. He retreats to the back to sort out the receipts as instructed but his attention is divided between them and Wakatoshi. Goshiki’s gaze is both hostile and admiring in that way that only he’s capable of, but Wakatoshi doesn’t take it too seriously. It doesn’t deter him from being secretly fond of the kid.

Semi breathes in and out deeply. “Welcome back, Wakatoshi,” he says, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

Wakatoshi doesn’t feel like repeating what he has already admitted to Kageyama earlier, so he just nods and makes to look around appraisingly. He’ll have to check on the finances with Shirabu later, but from the looks of it everything in his absence has been in order. Satisfaction pangs in his chest.

“Oohira is in the back taking a tea break, feel free to join him.”

“I will,” Wakatoshi says. “But I want to help out later.”

Semi laughs quietly. “Of course you do. You’ll have enough time to get your hands dirty, don’t worry,” he reassures and leads Wakatoshi deeper into the store.

[...]

On the next day, Wakatoshi is at their biggest Tokyo location, where Tendou is in charge. It’s a whole lot quieter there because customers tend to come by only after having booked an appointment. Most of the employees are locked away in their respective offices, drafting arrangements for weddings and consulting offices on how to properly decorate their dull, grey spaces.

A neon sign is lit up to indicate that the store is open so its surroundings don’t stand out starkly, but nothing about them is dull. Evergreen Azaleas line the display, tucked neatly into clay pots. Sugawara’s hair is perhaps the only grey splash, ruffled by the breeze from the window as he sprays the white flowers with water. They’re not very fragrant and neither are the kinofuji, sticking up like strings of sweet pea, but the magnolias more than make up for it with their citrusy scent. Magnolias are high on the list of Tendou’s favorite flowers, Wakatoshi remembers.

“Hey, Ushijima-san.” Sugawara waves, presumably just in response to the wind chimes’ interplay because he doesn’t look up. Wakatoshi greets him in turn.

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“Ah, we’re mostly busy preparing for a private event. It’s that First Division volleyball player hosting a dinner for his team and staff again. We’re trying to stick to the color scheme of their jerseys, so Black Velvet petunias, Diabolos, tons of lantern pieces.”

Wakatoshi wiggles his fingers, sore from all the times he got pricked by roses yesterday. “Bokuto Koutarou?”

Sugawara chuckles. “I’m not surprised you remember.”

It would be difficult not to, with all the enthusiastic fuss he had kicked up that his quiet partner kept apologizing to them for. But Wakatoshi doesn’t say that out loud, dignifying Sugawara with nothing more than a hum. Instead he moves through the store, putting up camp at the cash register where a lone magazine lies.

It’s something with a glossy cover and the promise of several manga chapters inside, so nothing Wakatoshi would usually be interested in. Against his instinct, though, he opens it, and dutifully scans the pages. The soft scent of the flowers around him lulls him into sharp concentration and it’s to the point where he doesn’t hear another presence sneak up.

“Stealing my things, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou teases and reaches for the magazine. Wakatoshi feels the rough texture of a bandaid on Tendou’s palm brush his own.

“You shouldn’t leave your things unsupervised if you don’t want anyone to take them,” Wakatoshi retorts drily.

“That’s fine,” Tendou says with a mischievously kittenish grin. “You’re not just anyone, after all.”

Wakatoshi blinks and busies himself with the folders underneath the cash register. Something about Tendou’s inflection makes him think there’s a hidden meaning that’s flying over his head, but it wouldn’t be the first time, so Wakatoshi lets it go.

“Why’d you spend so long on the advertisements?” Tendou asks, turning the magazine over to see what Wakatoshi was last reading. “The second chapter is right after. Man, I loved this when I was in high school.”

“I didn’t spend longer on them than on any other page,” Wakatoshi says, most of his attention on photos of an arrangement Yamagata has last created.

“That’s already too long,” Tendou insists. “What, are you gonna read the horoscopes too?”

“Should I not?”

With a chuckle, Tendou puts the magazine back onto the counter and on top of the folder. “Go for it. Tell me what sorts of terrible things expect me this week.”

Wakatoshi obliges, not before asking Tendou for his zodiac sign. (“Wakatoshi-kun, don’t you know when my birthday is?! You wound me.”) It takes him sometime to find the correct paragraph, but when he does it doesn’t disappoint the indulgence.

“ _Let yourself go into high creative mode today, and drift off into a whole other world_ ,” Wakatoshi reads out. “ _Escape your present reality and explore your fantasies through any sort of artistic endeavor. Dream as big as your mind allows it._ ”

“Aww, this isn’t terrible at all! I live another day of success,” Tendou proclaims. “What else?”

“ _Today, you're feeling especially loving, beautiful, and romantic, and therefore romance is likely to be very much on your mind. Romantic novels and movies could seem especially appealing. You could attract a potential date, but take care to get to know them before getting too excited._ Hm,” Wakatoshi says. “I see.”

Tendou laughs his manic little giggle and snatches the magazine back. “What do you see? This is just a pile of nonsense. Even moreso than the advertisements– you should’ve read the manga, really...”

Ushijima shrugs his shoulders, a silent whatever you say. He trusts Tendou’s judgement – more than anyone else in their entire establishment, really, but Reon has warned him against letting such sentiments slip. For all of Tendou’s efficiency and extraordinary eye for aesthetics, his ego is very easily inflatable, especially if it’s praise from Wakatoshi himself. Most of the time it’s not intended as praise in the first place – Wakatoshi doesn’t do praise the way Oikawa does, wielding it like a weapon. What people interpret as Wakatoshi’s idea of praise instead, is _trust_. Shiratorizawa is his heart and blood, so every display of trust in its context is affectionate by default.

Tendou goes on to talk about the manga, probably spoilering Wakatoshi ten times in the process, but he doesn’t think he’d ever finish reading it anyway. Wakatoshi still listens though, watches the taped up hands gesticulate wildly, pink camellias seemingly blooming together with the pink that spreads across Tendou’s cheeks the more he gets into it. This is where Wakatoshi feels the familiarity that’s been missing since he came back, like all the pieces slot into the right places. Like a perfectly arranged ikebana.

“What’re you smiling at, huh?” Tendou interrupts his rant with. He sounds half incredulous, half amused. “Did I bore you with my monologue?”

“No, it’s not a problem,” Wakatoshi says honestly, and walks off to the storage rooms. The gerbera daisy he plucks from its heap is fresh and moist, almost escapes his grip when he clips its stem hurriedly. But it’s perfect tucked behind Tendou’s ear.

Tendou watches him put it in place intently. “Doesn’t it clash?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head. “It’s so you can attract a potential date,” he clarifies.

Tendou doesn’t seem like he takes the explanation seriously at all, but Wakatoshi is satisfied, watching the two shades of red come into fruition by his hand. No matter that this can never make it into the folder.

(There is no place where flowers cannot be arranged.)

The day after Wakatoshi goes to “bother Sawamura-kun”, as instructed. It’s not so much bothering as hovering and awkward attempts at small talk, but all the Ota vendors are used to it by now, letting him inspect their flowers in peace. Wakatoshi thinks he doesn’t let it on, but he’s actually quite intrigued by Karasuno’s work because they don’t have a consistent style, preferring for each florist to let their individual approach shine through.

“What’s that magazine, Ushijima-san?” Kindaichi asks, pointing to the paper clutched in Wakatoshi’s hands. Wakatoshi hasn’t even noticed how tightly he was holding on to it.

“Just something I picked up around the office. For the horoscope section,” Wakatoshi explains. Nobody questions it.

“What does it say about Pisces?” Daichi wants to know. Next to him, a man without the trademark black and orange apron stands, facial expression relaying utter cringe.

Wakatoshi spreads the magazine out on the next available flat surface and looks for the correct column. “It says, _Today you might be feeling concerned with what others think about you. You could be wishing for more appreciation and attention. You are an intelligent and efficient person, and sometimes people tend to take your qualities for granted. They don't always see how difficult it is for you to accomplish all that you do._ ”

Silence settles into the Karasuno stand for some time, before Daichi breaks it with a hearty laugh. “Oh, Ikejiri, I didn’t know you felt this way! I definitely think you’re intelligent and efficient, not to mention an irreplaceable member of the team. What would we do without your negotiating skills and cheerful spiri–”

“Will someone make him stop?” Ikejiri pleads, embarrassed blush settling underneath his sparse freckles. The plea is in vain, however, and Wakatoshi leaves with the satisfying observation that he’s not the only one taking the little predictions serious.

Next, he reveals to Goshiki that he “shouldn’t try to do too many tasks at one time”. 

“ _Instead, focus on one project until it is complete. You'll finish some important work by handling each task at the proper moment_ ,” Wakatoshi reads out diligently.

It’s rather fitting because Goshiki is currently drowning in sketches, plucked flower petals for reference and colorful pens littering his desk. The mess, expectedly, doesn’t pacify him in the slightest.

“Don’t underestimate me, Ushijima-san! I can get all of this done even before you can get to Moniwa-san,” Goshiki insists, drawing out white pumpkins and manzanita trees even more ferociously than before.

“My zodiac sign? It’s Virgo,” Moniwa says, mere minutes later. “What is this about, if I may ask?”

“Professional advice from me to you,” Wakatoshi answers stoically. “ _Perhaps a coworker is having problems understanding a project at work. You could step in and explain things to them today. Your natural teaching abilities will make you a great mentor to this person. You'll feel good helping them out, and you'll say just the right things!_ ”

Moniwa blinks, rolling up the sleeves of his white undershirt carefully. “Are you sure, Ushijima-san?”

“Positive,” Wakatoshi assures.

At that, Moniwa lets out a relieved breath, excitement bubbling up in his wide eyes. “Alright!”

Wakatoshi watches Moniwa walk past him with a pep in his step. He debates texting Tendou about it, but that thought is crushed once he hears Futakuchi’s yells, something that sounds like “Save it for someone who cares, senpai”. The stars cannot help everybody, Wakatoshi reasons.

The stars are good company, if nothing else, when Wakatoshi drives downtown in the evening. The store should long since be closed, but Tendou has a tendency to hole himself up in his office or elsewhere and work overtime that Wakatoshi isn’t all too happy with. If nothing else he can bring him the magazine: it’s the newest volume and since Wakatoshi only bought it for the horoscope section Tendou will surely have better use for it.

Wakatoshi parks a few blocks away. He walks with one of his hands in the pockets of his slacks, trying to hold on to the remains of warmth in the chilly weather. He thinks of the sunflowers back in Miyagi and how they would face east now that there is no sun.

Then he sees Tendou, sat on the two stairs leading to the door. He’s wearing a beige hoodie that fits him perfectly in the shoulders, but especially because he’s slouching so much it otherwise envelops him like a blanket. Wakatoshi isn’t sure this hoodie has always belonged to Tendou. So much for him stealing Tendou’s things.

But more presently Wakatoshi compiles possible combinations of flowers in his head. Brown hydrangeas for the hoodie’s sleeve that the nearby lamppost illuminates, Tendou’s skin. Toffee roses for what remains in the shadow. And lily magnolias for Tendou’s hair, cropped close to his skull and pink underneath the neon-lit “Open” sign.

“Satori, what are you doing out here?” Wakatoshi asks, at the same time as Tendou looks up at him with painfully timid eyes.

“I could ask you the same, Wakatoshi,” he says. He sounds as mischievous as ever, though quieter, like he’s a sunflower stuffed into a too small pot.

Wakatoshi wasn’t prepared for the tables to be turned on him so rapidly.

“Your- well, your horoscope for today said it’s a time in which you miss your friends and need somebody to talk to.”

Tendou lifts his head all the way up, then, more of his face hydrangea than toffee rose. He looks at Wakatoshi and Wakatoshi feels seen, all of a sudden. Like Tendou may not always get the little things he does and he may not always get how Tendou manages to be so high-energy but on a profound level they understand each other all the same, and it warms him all the way from the inside.

“So you’re still reading those, huh?” Tendou says with a crooked smile. It’s rhetorical, but Wakatoshi shows him the magazine anyway. “Ah, what a waste! Give it to me. I wanna know what happens after that nasty cliffhanger last week.”

Wakatoshi hands it to him more than willingly. Tendou still seems tired but his lids are heavy in a way that suggests satisfaction rather than exhaustion. He thumbs through the magazine for a bit, making one or the other remark.

When he goes quiet, Wakatoshi says: “I figured I need to pay more attention to you.”

“What?” Tendou’s eyes are wide open now, like saucers.

“You know, because of the horoscope.”

Tendou doesn’t seem very happy with this explanation either. It wouldn’t bother Wakatoshi usually: he doesn’t care a lot about what other people think of him and he especially doesn’t get hung up on anybody’s body language or undertones. If they have something to say to him they should say it clearly, or not say it at all because Wakatoshi likes order and neatness. He likes knowing how certain colors go together, which plant thrives in what soil, when every flower is at its peak of demand and it’s easier that way, when everything makes perfect sense right away.

But in a sense, this is easy too. Sitting next to Tendou on the cold stairs, their thighs brushing. They’ve done this many times before: on that Belgian Christmas market when their legs were worn down by the search for the perfect souvenir to take home and the cheapest waffles to try. During the conference in Virginia, when Wakatoshi needed some fresh air and Tendou unceremoniously led him to an empty corner and plopped down on the floor like he wasn’t one of the most respectable florists in Japan. On the field in Miyagi where he insisted on following Wakatoshi to for a week, planting wisterias and charming his mother by offering to do the dishes after dinner.

“There was another horoscope I saw, online,” Wakatoshi tells him.

Tendou stares at him blankly, but Wakatoshi stares back, determined. _Humor me._

“Go ahead, then. What was it about?” Tendou gives in, setting the magazine down next to his feet and playing with the bandaids on his knuckles.

“How the signs respond to ‘I love you’,” Wakatoshi says.

The movements of Tendou’s fingers still.

“Goshiki is a Leo, so he would apparently say ‘Well, why wouldn’t you?’”

“I don’t know about that, Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou shakes his head. “I think he’d probably combust if you told him you loved him.”

“I don’t plan on trying that out.”

“Hm, that’s good? He’s a talented kid, we need him in one piece–”

“Satori,” Wakatoshi says, in that deep, sure voice that commands attention (or so he’s been told).

Tendou turns to him, like a sunflower towards the sun, and his face is now completely bathed in toffee.


End file.
